


do i want to know

by idaate



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Well. Comfort ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 04:48:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12927801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idaate/pseuds/idaate
Summary: [ MAJOR V3 SPOILERS ]Ouma reaches the conclusion that DICE cannot exist for the simple reason that no one can love him.





	do i want to know

He’s got his suspicions from the get-go; of course he does. The motive video only serves as a means to confirm it.

Monokuma sings songs of ten persons that loved him and would lay down their life for him and see him as their  _ family  _ and he slams down on the power button so fast he gets whiplash. The screen flickers off without a sound as Ouma breathes through his nose, his mind moaning in protest as his brain reminds itself of the lost memories it's buried, supposedly.

Cotton candy. Broken windows. Bubble cigarettes. Flowers that squirt water when you squeeze them. Hands that squirt love when you squeeze them back.

The only hands that should squeeze him are ones around his neck, right? He’s surprised it hasn’t happened yet, but then again, there’s only been a single murder thus far.

_ And it’ll end like that,  _ says the voice in the back of his head and he half-heartedly agrees with it as he sits down on the bed. He pinches his nose and tries to calm the raging migraine that threatens to spill over as the memories creep in like gold seeping through the cracks of healed pottery.

Ouma sheers away from the contact, the memory of a gloved hand reaching itself out and rubbing his hair, sending purple curls tumbling over his forehead and followed by a chaste cherry color lipstick smooch. It’s a foreign contact, and even though he  _ knows  _ it’s all in his head, the ghost sensation is enough to send his mind spiraling. 

Panic flares up in his brain, a dark sunspot that threatens to overwhelm him as he fumbles with his scarf, digs his fingers into his arms, mind racing as he tries to comprehend the concept of these people, very well as dead as a doornail, as Akamatsu, as Amami, these people who cared for him that are  _ gone— _

Oh. 

That’s it.

Someone caring for him.

Ouma’s fingers gently uncurl from his arms, fingernails relenting their grip as he breathes in, out, and steadies himself.

He picks up the motive video lets out a cruel bark of laughter as he powers it back on, fingers drumming the sides. Ouma hums along to the beat with a tuneless song as he stares at the fake, fake screen and considers his fake, fake memories.

There’s no way these people exist, because there’s no way that anyone could love him. Love him like  _ that. _

He listens to it till the end, barely blinking as Monokuma drones on and on about their harmless pranks, of the firm rules he set in place of no murder (well, at the very least they got that right) and how they were as close as family, closer than that, even. The video draws to a close soon enough, the clown like figures reaching out through the bars as blue blood turns red, and with a snort, he tosses it onto his bed and it lands on its corner, landing once before laying still.

Ouma stands up, loses his balance, sits down than up once again. He doesn’t lose his balance this time around, and walks straight to his bathroom, head held high as black spots pool around in the corner of his eyesight.

It’s really pathetic that this is affecting him, in all honesty, and then it makes a little bit more sense to him why Monokuma’s motives are so effective, so much of a mind fuckery to make some willing to pull the trigger and end the life of another, and, by extension, either their own or that of the entire class.

He has to pause by the frame to his bathroom, wincing as another spout of memories plummets his skull and promises him that people care about him and want him to be safe and happy. It’s annoying, really, especially when some part of his memories implores him to slit Harukawa’s neck so that he can slit open the bars keeping them imprisoned, and that only further solidifies the fact that there’s no way that these memories can be real.

After a few moments, he rights himself back up and pauses, mentally debating whether to sway towards the toilet or the sink. The latter wins and he forces the bile rising up in his throat as he picks up a small plastic cup and lets it overflow with water. He downs it all in one go moments later, and with a smack of his lips, he slams it into the trash can and stares at the mirror.

“Jeez,” he hums to his reflection as he scrubs his skin raw in the bathroom sink, getting the cuffs of his sleeves wet, “and you’re the one who’s so incessant on trusting no one and nothing...implore the others to do the rest, but not taking a sip of your own medicine? A bigger hypocrite than Akamatsu-chan, really!”

His reflection sneers back at him, an ugly jumble of muscle that doesn’t belong, and after a moment or two, he relaxes his face and yawns, turning away from the mirror.

He sees the motive video on his bed blankets once again, and without a second thought, tosses it into his drawer and shuts it tight.

 

.

 

Saihara declares that Ouma deserves to be alone with a single accusatory finger and his mask scoffs at the detective for him. He walks out of the trial room and feels nothing, because he is the evil supreme leader that everyone must unite against and he’s only fulfilling the prophecy that he set for his very self.

It’s not him who draws countless crayon plans for guns that shoot rainbows and sleep masks that keep away nightmares and bracelets that prevent the wearer from missing people they care about.

And it’s not him who turns on the motive video once again and watches his family smile and smile and smile at him through the screen. Sometimes, he smiles back.

He practices and stays up long enough till he manages to figure out exactly when he needs to press the power button so he doesn’t need to see their tattered, injured forms flicker across the screen.

He falls asleep with it resting on his chest and Monokuma’s high pitched voice declaring that  _ “they all loved their leader!” _

**Author's Note:**

> Did you know that Ouma's motive video is on his bed when you investigate his room, meaning he had to have at least held it the last time that he was in the room? I just thought that was an interesting fact :)
> 
> S/o to twitter user @kellanronpa for inspiration for the ideas for Ouma's doodles.
> 
> Please leave comments/kudos!


End file.
